Life Lessons
by Fantine Black
Summary: Draco Malfoy had never questioned his father's methods. When he did, he learned more than he wanted to know. Set after Draco's fourth year at Hogwarts.


_**Life Lessons**_

Four o'clock. Time to visit father's quarters. Time for … no, stop that thought.

He licked his lips. He hated this feeling of constriction in his throat. He hated his tongue feeling like a dead piece of leather.

He was expected at exactly ten past four. A completely random time. Once, a house elf had reset all the clocks in the house, but hadn't touched his wristwatch. You couldn't blame the creature; he'd told him not to touch it, after all. Anyway, when he'd noticed there was a three minute difference between the clocks and his watch, he'd nearly bolted. He ran to his father's study knowing he had no clue whether he was much too early or much too late – both crimes which would have resulted in him having to come back later that evening. Since he had the whole night to heal after night time visits, the waiting alone was enough to make him sick with fear.

When his father didn't answer his knocking, he seriously considered running for it. But then he heard footsteps behind him. His father, still in his travelling cloak, was striding down the hall. 'Ah, Draco,' he said, glanced at his watch and took out his wand. Draco's heart stopped. But father only waved at the door. 'The Goyles have been disconnected from the floo network again,' he said, handing Draco his cloak. 'I was forced to leave their estate on foot before I could Apparate home. Get that to an Elf, will you, and have it make tea while you're at it.' Draco hurried away; he was so relieved he had trouble suppressing his tears. Part of him suspected that Lucius had noticed.

That had been a lucky escape, though. There was no knowing what father he would find behind that door this time. Would he be sitting behind his desk, working? Reading, in that leather armchair next to his bookshelves? That would be good – it meant there were other things on his mind than the possible misdemeanours of his son. But if he was standing, or worse yet, pacing… Merlin's balls! Why couldn't he stop thinking like that? For all he knew, they'd spend the whole afternoon discussing Quidditch.

Yeah, likely, that. The looks father had been giving him at Sunday brunch! The signs could not have been less reassuring. The slight flaring of his nostrils. The sarcastic remarks. The way he'd been stroking his cane.

So Draco had checked every bit of his clothing. Trimmed his nails. Brushed his teeth. Checked his posture – straight, always straight…

He wanted his wand. Maybe that was the biggest torture of all. Knowing that his wand was there, locked away in the same room, while he walked in, defenceless…

Six minutes past four. Mother was starting to give him silent hints. Very well. He started climbing the stairs. He felt his arms, his legs, his back. He was strong; his body whole. He wasn't thinking about falling off the stairs, conveniently knocking himself out. He'd had too much experience staying conscious while falling down, anyway - he just had to walk over to the door, raise his hand and knock – like so…

The door flew open. 'Come in,' said Lucius. He sounded curt, clipped.

Draco did so, not saying anything. His father was standing with his back to him, staring out of the window. The door sealed itself shut behind them. 'So,' Lucius said. 'Tell me about your week.'

'I had a good week, father,' he said. It was true, everything considered.

'What was good about it?'

Trick question. It was getting harder to form words now. 'I… enjoyed… being home again. Flying, and riding. Mother and I flood to Edinburgh for a day. I…I beat you at chess.'

He saw his father's right hand twitch at the top of his cane.

'Did that make you feel grand, Draco?'

'Yes…' It had been a real victory, even the family pieces had applauded him. Then he remembered his fathers set jaw. 'no! I don't mean…'

'Small then, Draco? Do you think I am but a little man?'

'What…? Please, father, you know I don't.'

'I _know _very little, Draco.' His father slowly turned around. 'I only know what I _see…_' His eyes locked himself into Draco's. 'And, of course, _hear_.' His voice was like a blade, both cold and sharp. It was impossible not to squirm.

'Now, as for what I see…' His father slowly approached him -_stay back!_- and circled him once. 'Show me your hands.' At the sight of his spotless fingernails, father's lips curled.

'What I _see_ is an impeccable young man.' Despite everything, Draco felt a foolish surge of pride.

'And yet…' Lucius paused for the briefest of moments. 'When I go out into Society, I'm forced to hear people maligning you.'

O Merlin… He _knew. _After all of the people Mother had threatened to keep it silent, he _knew. _

'Of course, they wouldn't do it to my face,' his father drawled on, 'yet, after Friday night's dinner at the Bullstrodes, I got the distinct impression that you, Vincent and Gregory had been found on the Hogwarts Express, unconscious and covered in hex marks.'

Draco looked down. He had nothing to say.

'How, Draco?' breathed his father.

And, as ever, there was no right answer to give. He knew how this was going to play out: his father was going to lecture him a bit longer before choosing the punishment that took his fancy, whether it was blunt force, hexes, or a combination of both; he would then be dismissed with a healing potion and the order to be presentable for dinner. Suddenly he wanted no part of it. If he was going to be hurt, he wanted it over with now.

'Does it matter?' he said, coolly.

His father's eyes shot open. 'Excuse me?'

'If you really want to punish me, why don't you just do it? Why make me listen to your speeches?'

'Idiot boy!' Lucius swung his cane and brought it down with a slashing movement. On instinct, Draco shielded himself with his left arm. As the stick made contact, he felt something snap, but worse, far worse, was a completely new feeling: the feeling of fangs tearing into his flesh, ripping away muscle and skin, leaving an acid that spread and burnt his way further into his body, closer to the bone…

He screamed, falling to his knees and cradling his arm, and saw in horror how something was eating through his flesh…

'All your life I've meant to prepare you,' he heard his father say, as from another world, 'for what may lie ahead.'

'Stop…!' Draco cried. 'Please, father, make it stop…'

'In times of peace, I taught you to rule,' father went on. 'Yet for times of war you need to learn how to fight, endure, and _obey_!'

'I will, Daddy, I'm sorry…'

'The Dark Lord will show no mercy, Draco! Rebel against him and you'll soon plead for death!'

'Daddy, my _arm_, please, my arm…'

And finally the burning stopped. Draco stared, aghast, at the bone that lay bare amid scorched flesh and sinew. He sobbed, deep heaving sobs, and felt his muscles contract in horrible, spastic shivers. A moment later, he felt his father pull him up by his good arm. 'Will you listen?' father said, 'Will you learn?'

'Yes,' he howled, 'yes, yes…'

Father dragged him to the armchair and pushed him in. Then he summoned a crystal decanter containing a deep purple fluid. He yanked off the stopper and pushed it against Draco's lips. 'Drink!'

The liquid was both slimy and bitter, and it took Draco all his restraint not to retch. Seconds later he again cried out as the bones, muscles and skin of his arm began to heal at an unnaturally fast rate.

'Merlin, o Merlin…'

'Be quiet, Draco. It'll be over soon.' It was, but it left Draco exhausted, as if he'd just recovered from an illness. He took a few deep, quivering breaths.

'This is but one of the methods the Dark Lord uses to punish those who displease him,' father said softly. 'I trust you don't want me to demonstrate another?'

Draco shot upright. 'No, I'll listen, please don't…'

'Then sit down and hold your tongue!' Father pushed him down again, then stood up to put the decanter back in the small liquor cabinet near his desk. Draco kept following his movements, his eyes fixed on Lucius' cane. Yet Lucius did not turn to him, but returned to the window and gazed out at the grounds below.

For a while, he did not speak. Then he said, in a soft voice: 'You seem to be under the impression that I am out to get you.'

Draco was happy he didn't have to answer that one.

'All my efforts to teach and prepare you. Pointless at best, deliberately cruel at worst.' Draco felt his throat tightening again. Yet suddenly his father smiled. 'Heaven knows I thought the same when I was your age.'

Draco just stared.

'My father knew the value of decorum and a good name. Under no circumstances did he allow me to make a spectacle of myself. I did resent him for that.'

Draco wondered if he was hallucinating. Never had father mentioned something so – human – about himself.

'Yet he knew _nothing_ of war,' Lucius said. 'He would have thought that incident on the train to be a mishap of a fifteen year old. Unseemly and regrettable, but something to be expected from someone so young.'

Draco fleetingly thought he would have gotten on with his grandfather when Lucius swiftly turned again. 'I know better, boy. If this had happened in a real fight you would _never_ have survived!' He strode over to the armchair and gripped Draco's shoulder. 'I have told you before and I'll tell you again: you _have _to be more careful!'

His grip hurt, but Draco almost didn't notice. There was fear etched in the lines of his father's face.

'I will,' he said quickly.

'These are dangerous times, Draco,' Lucius went on. 'My position is precarious. Our family will need every ounce of goodwill it can get – from both sides.' He brought his face just this little bit closer. 'And I will not have you endangering us out of your childish desire to best Potter!'

Draco recoiled. 'No sir,' he said breathlessly.

'I will have none of these incidents anymore.' said Lucius. 'Should other regrettable things occur in the future, you will report them promptly and accept my corrections without complaint. Is that clear?' The snake's eyes gleamed unpleasantly at Draco.

'Yes, father.'

'Good.' Lucius let go of his shoulder and turned around. Draco leaned back in his chair. He desperately wanted to close his eyes but didn't dare leave his father out of sight. Out of the corner of his eye he saw him rummage in his desk before coming back once more. 'Take this,' he said. Draco was surprised to see a bar of Honeydukes' Almond and Honey flavoured chocolate.

'Thank you,' he stammered.

Father turned away again. 'You can go.'

Draco rose as fast as he could. When he'd almost reached the door, he heard his father's voice again.

'Draco…' With a sick feeling in his stomach Draco turned. He saw his fathers face, suddenly very tired. 'I want you to live, son. You do understand that, don't you?'

'Yes, father.' Anything to get away from him for now.

Lucius nodded. 'Well then.' He was silent for a moment. 'You'd better go freshen up for dinner. It won't do to keep your mother waiting.'


End file.
